


Baking Long Distance

by GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: And also angst, Angst, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, NHL Trade(s), Sleepy Cuddles, emotionally constipated idiots, in which the author explores her feelings about her OTP being separated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Brandon gets traded to the Penguins. He and Adam have to figure some shit out, and fast.





	Baking Long Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Blame my beta for the title, because when I jokingly suggested it, she loved it. Also, the usual handwaviness applies, don't look too closely at the details because I probably got them wrong. Work of fiction, no disrespect, etc.
> 
> For Seb, with love.

Brandon gets the news he’s been offered to sign with the Penguins via a phone call from his agent. It’s just a few weeks into the off-season, and he and Adam haven’t parted company for the summer yet, still tying up loose ends in Winnipeg and coming up with reasons not to leave. It’s late, and Brandon’s thinking idly about heading for home soon or whether he can get away with falling asleep on the couch again when the phone rings.

A cold, hard lump settles in his stomach as he hangs up with a promise to call back with his decision. Adam’s in the kitchen, humming to himself as he puts together a batch of cookies. Brandon walks in that direction, not really sure how his feet work.

Adam doesn’t look up when he enters. “Hey, iced or not?”

Brandon, still clutching his phone, doesn’t answer, and Adam finally glances up, brows pinching together.

“Dude, what—”

“I’ve been offered a trade,” Brandon says, and the words drop like stones, falling, falling like the look on Adam’s face. “To Pittsburgh.”

Adam opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows hard. He sets the mixer down on its stand and takes a step away, wiping his floury hands on his shirt.

“Say something,” Brandon begs.

“Like  _ what?” _ Adam snaps. He hunches his shoulders, arms going around his waist, and there—Brandon knows that expression, the hollow smile he musters when he’s about to lie. “You’ll be great there. They’ll take good care of you.”

Brandon stares at him, and Adam coughs, turning away to peer into the oven.

“So you think I should go,” Brandon says.

Adam nods, still staring at the cookies. “I mean, you’d be a great fit, especially if they’ll keep Rust, let you guys play together. Who knows what you could do? Did you say yes?”

Silence falls, heavy and charged with things unsaid, and still Adam refuses to look at him.

“That’s it?” Brandon bursts out, disbelieving. “That’s all you’ve got? We play together, might as well live together, do  _ everything _ together, and you give me that bland shit? Next you’ll say you’ll miss me, is that right?” He’s angry, and even though it’s not really at Adam, he doesn’t know where else to direct it.

“Well, I  _ will _ miss y—”

“Fuck off!” Brandon shouts, and spins on his heel. He’s halfway to the door when Adam catches up, reaching for his arm, and Brandon shakes it off with a snarl, rounding on him. Adam flinches back, looking somehow small, hand rubbing restlessly at his forearm.

“B,” he says, then stops.

Brandon waits, but Adam says nothing else. He looks wretched, heavy brows dark slashes over his eyes and mouth drawn down.

“What?” Brandon prompts after a minute. “I can’t wait all day for this, apparently I have to start packing.”

That makes Adam flinch again and Brandon stifles the pang of guilt.

“Why are you mad at me?” Adam finally asks.

_ Because you’re not sadder that I’m going. Because you’re not in love with me. Because you’ll forget about me inside three months. _

“I’m not,” Brandon says. He dredges up a tiny smile. “See you around, Lowry.”

He’s out the door before Adam can speak again.

This time he makes it out of the building and halfway down the block before Adam catches him—Brandon had a headstart and his shoes already on, and he’s a strong runner, but Adam’s some sort of freakish moose hybrid and Brandon’s too distracted by the stupid tears in his eyes to see where he’s going. He bumps into a pedestrian out late, apologizes blindly, and then Adam’s caught his arm, dragging him around and hauling him in right there on the street. Brandon’s nose connects painfully with Adam’s collarbone but he doesn’t care, because Adam’s got him, Adam’s holding on like he’s never going to let go, saying something into his hair Brandon can’t hear over the roaring in his ears.

He holds on, gulping back the tears, clutching at the back of Adam’s shirt. He doesn’t care who sees them, if they’re recognized. All he wants, all he’s  _ wanted, _ is Adam to hold him like this, for far too long. And now he is, because Brandon is leaving. Brandon could laugh at the irony, if it weren’t for the stone lodged in his throat.

Adam loosens his grip and Brandon makes a protesting noise—he’s not ready, he’ll never be ready for Adam to let him go—but Adam pulls him toward an apartment lobby. The door is closing slowly from an occupant leaving, and Adam grabs it, tugging Brandon into the warmly lit space lined by mailboxes. Here, they’re out of the wind and out of sight, and Adam still hasn’t let go, gripping Brandon’s hand like it’s a lifeline.

He’s never seen Adam so serious, Brandon thinks. Not even in playoffs. Adam stares at him silently for a long minute, searching his face, and whatever he sees seems to satisfy him, because he drops Brandon’s hand but it’s only so he can bring both his own hands up to cradle Brandon’s face, bending his head until their lips meet.

_ Oh, _ Brandon thinks dumbly.  _ Oh. _

Adam’s lips are soft, and he’s taking his time, teasing lightly along the seam of Brandon’s mouth with his tongue until Brandon opens and lets him in. Even then, Adam moves slow, giving Brandon time to pull away, stop him, tongue dragging hot and wet over Brandon’s lower lip and then scraping it softly with his teeth.

Brandon shudders, and Adam strokes his cheekbone in slow, rhythmic movements.

He’s smiling when he lifts his head. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy to get rid of me, did you?”

Brandon sways, and Adam steadies him, smile skewing into smugness. Brandon has to punch him for that, even if there’s no real power behind it, and Adam yelps but he doesn’t stop smiling.

“What the fuck, B?” he says, cupping Brandon’s face again. “You thought I’d just wave goodbye to you at the airport? Never think about you again? We’ve baked  _ cookies _ together, man, that’s a  _ bond.” _

“You’re an idiot,” Brandon tells him, but his eyes are stinging and he leans forward to press his face against Adam’s shirt.

“Yeah well, who just flipped his shit and ran out of my place without even giving me a  _ chance _ to say something?”

“Maybe we’re both idiots,” Brandon concedes, voice muffled.

“Can we go back now, please?” Adam asks. “The cookies are going to be burned to shit.”

“Fuck, the cookies!”

They jog back to Adam’s building to discover the cookies an alarming shade of brown and crispy at the edges. Adam nibbles forlornly on the edge of one before he sighs and dumps the whole lot in the trash.

“Guess I’ll have to start another batch,” he says, shrugging.

“Sorry,” Brandon offers. His head is spinning from the roller coaster of emotions he’s just been on. Adam is cleaning up the cookie mess like nothing happened, his hair rumpled from the wind and lips kissed red. Brandon catches his breath against the sharp spike of pain. If he signs, he’s going away. He’s  _ losing  _ this, now that he’s found it. 

Adam glances up and nearly drops the dish he’s holding in his scramble to get to Brandon’s side. 

“Hey, whoa, what is it?”

“Why aren’t you more upset?” Brandon asks before he thinks better of it. 

Adam stares incredulously down at him and not for the first time, Brandon resents their height difference. 

“You think I’m not?”

Brandon lifts a shoulder. “You’re… making cookies. I’m—”  _ My world just fell apart, I’m losing you, I’m moving to  _ America, _ and you’re making cookies. _

“I’m processing,” Adam tells him, and takes a step away, but it’s only to the fridge for beers. He offers one to Brandon, who accepts but doesn’t take a drink. Adam rests his hips against the counter and takes a long swallow. Finally he sighs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s fucking me up,” he admits without looking at Brandon.

Something tight in Brandon’s chest eases a fraction. Not that he  _ wants _ Adam to be sad, ever, but knowing he’s miserable too… helps, somehow.

“What do we do?” he whispers, and he hates how small his voice sounds. 

“What do you  _ want _ to do?” Adam counters.

“I want to stay,” Brandon says immediately, and Adam winces. “I want to play  _ with _ you. I want to keep baking with you, and falling asleep on your couch with you, and wishing you would kiss me, and—” He snaps his mouth shut.

“You don’t have to wish for that last part anymore,” Adam says softly, taking a step toward him.

“Not unless I leave,” Brandon retorts, lifting his chin. “And then what? Seeing each other twice a year for games? A quick handie in the broom closet of the PPG Paints Arena?”

“I mean, if you  _ want—” _

“Don’t,” Brandon says, sharp and raw. “Don’t joke about it yet. I can’t—”

Adam sets his beer down, takes Brandon’s from his unresisting hand, and brackets his wrist with gentle fingers. He pulls him out of the kitchen, down the hall to the bedroom, where he kicks the door shut behind them and turns to face him. His face is serious again, and Brandon blinks away more tears. He wants to keep this. Why can’t he keep this?

Adam cups his cheek and bends to kiss him. He tastes like beer and burnt cookie, and it makes the tears sting Brandon’s eyes even more, until the first slides down his cheek. Adam keeps kissing him, pressing him gently up against the wall and planting an elbow on either side of Brandon’s head. Brandon is caged in, supported and protected by Adam’s body against his, his mouth warm as he breaks away to kiss along Brandon’s face.

“H-how long—” Brandon asks.

“Awhile,” Adam says without lifting his head. He nibbles at the hinge of Brandon’s jaw. “I was trying to figure out how to say it. I thought—” His eyes are dark with misery when he looks up. “I thought we had time.”

Brandon blinks rapidly and Adam goes back to kissing down his throat. He’s pushing aside the collar of Brandon’s shirt, moving lower, and Brandon realizes what he’s doing. He manages to get his hands up, fist them in Adam’s shirt, and push him away a few inches. Adam growls, but he stops when he gets a look at Brandon’s expression.

“I—I can’t,” Brandon says.

Adam’s face goes still. “Can’t or don’t want to?”

Brandon can’t help the roll of his eyes at that. “I haven’t wanted anything else for a year or more, you giant idiot,” he says, and Adam’s face eases into something like amusement. “But,” he continues, fumbling for words, “I c-can’t, can’t just… not if that’s all this is. Not if I’m—and you’re—I can’t.”

Adam stares at him for a long moment. “You are so goddamn lucky I speak Brandon,” he finally says. “This isn’t a one-and-done deal, dumbass. You think I’m gonna take advantage of you and then shove you out the door, is that it?”

“No, but—”

Adam tugs him away from the wall and spins him, muscling him gently across the room toward the bed, until Brandon’s thighs bump against the frame and he sits down gracelessly on the mattress. Adam looms over him, looking almost… disappointed. Brandon bristles at that, crossing his arms and tipping his chin up.

Adam ignores that, pushing his shoulder until Brandon takes the hint and scoots farther up the mattress and Adam can crawl on, straddling his thighs. The weight of him makes Brandon shiver, his fingers twitch with the urge to touch him, but he holds still, propped up on his elbows as Adam looks down at him, eyes contemplative.

“I’d say you’re the dumbest person I know,” he starts, and Brandon bristles more, opening his mouth to argue, but Adam just fixes him with a sharp gaze and Brandon snaps his mouth shut again. “But I’m also the idiot who spent six months trying to figure out how to make a move on you, so maybe we share the braincell.”

Brandon huffs something almost like laughter and Adam puts a hand on his stomach.

“It’s been you for a long goddamn time, Rusty,” he says, and the raw honesty in his voice makes Brandon’s eyes sting  _ again. _ Adam slides his hand across Brandon’s stomach, squeezes the curve of his waist. “It’s going to  _ be _ you for a lot longer. I don’t care where you play. We’ll figure it out. If you want it.” He hesitates. “Although if you go to Russia or China, it’s gonna suck, so maybe don’t do that.”

Brandon’s laugh is a little soggy, a little wretched. He knuckles at his eyes, trying to will himself into composure. “No Russia or China,” he manages finally, and a smile blooms on Adam’s face, lighting up his hazel eyes. 

He takes Brandon’s left hand and lifts it to his mouth. “I love your hands,” he whispers, and kisses each fingertip in turn. Brandon watches, spellbound, as Adam turns his hand and presses a kiss to his palm, then his inner wrist. “I’m going to miss your hands so much. I think about them all the time.”

“You do?” Brandon’s voice is a dry croak.

“Specifically, them on me,” Adam says. He leans down and brings Brandon’s right hand to his mouth to repeat the process. When he lets go of Brandon’s left, Brandon turns it, reaching up to curve his palm over the nape of Adam’s neck. He runs his fingers across the bumps of his skull, tracing and memorizing by feel what he’s only been able to look at before. Adam’s eyes slip closed, and Brandon takes the opportunity to pull him down until their mouths meet.

He kisses like he’s drowning, like Adam’s the air he needs in his lungs, lips and tongue desperate as he wraps his arms around Adam’s neck, hanging on for dear life as Adam kisses him back, holding himself above Brandon on his elbows. Brandon makes a noise and pulls until Adam lowers himself carefully on top of him. That’s better—he’s pinned now, feeling less like he’s going to fly apart.

Adam wedges a leg between his and settles in to kiss him properly. He refuses to be rushed, though, kissing Brandon slow and deep and unhurried despite every attempt of Brandon’s to speed things up. Eventually, Brandon drags in a deep, shaky breath, and relaxes into it, loosening his hold on Adam’s neck enough to stroke his back, tracing the lines of bone and muscle under his T-shirt.

“There you are,” Adam murmurs. He slips an arm under Brandon’s neck and rolls them smoothly, ending up with Brandon on top and breathless.

“Practiced that, have you?” he manages, and Adam smirks at him.

Brandon drops his face into Adam’s throat. He wants… so much. He wants to never move again, to stay right here with Adam underneath him, keeping him steady, reminding him he’s wanted. He wants to be held and cherished and to never stop touching Adam. The thought of being separated is a knife in his chest, twisting with every breath.

“Hey,” Adam whispers, running his hands over Brandon’s shoulders. He rolls again, but this time it’s just to the side, squirming until he’s got them both situated where he wants them. Brandon lets him move him, somewhat bemused and distracted by how cute Adam is when he’s focused on a task, brows furrowed and tongue tucked in his cheek. Not that he’d ever  _ tell _ him that, of course.

They end up with Brandon’s back to Adam’s chest, his ass nestled securely in Adam’s hips and Adam’s arm around his waist. Adam hums approvingly, tugging him a little closer, and then pats Brandon’s forearm as he relaxes.

Brandon knows that particular bonelessness. Adam’s fallen asleep, and Brandon is torn between laughter and wanting to punch him again. In the end, he does neither, lying quietly in the dim half-light of the bedroom as Adam breathes softly on his neck, and eventually he falls asleep too, cradled and safe.

Adam wakes up first to find they’ve shifted around in their sleep. He’s rolled so he’s half-pinning Brandon, one long leg flung over both of Brandon’s, and Brandon’s face is buried in his shoulder. His breathing is even and deep, and Adam stretches and sighs, still half-asleep and floating on a sea of contentment. Nothing’s changed, even though everything’s changed. He pushes it all away, out of his mind, and turns his head to kiss Brandon’s forehead. 

Brandon grumbles in his sleep, shifting his hold, and his forearm brushes Adam’s groin. Adam wakes up abruptly, his body taking an interest, but Brandon doesn’t move. Adam kisses his forehead again, letting his lips linger on the soft skin.  _ Dumbass, _ he thinks fondly. It was so very  _ Brandon _ to have overreacted the way he had, flashing from anger to despair back to anger so fast it made Adam dizzy. 

He wouldn’t have him any other way. Adam loves him so much it makes his heart hurt when he thinks about it. His stomach twists at how close they came to losing  _ this _ before they ever had it, and he tightens his grip without thinking.

Brandon stirs, murmuring a questioning, sleepy noise.

“Shh,” Adam whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Instead Brandon slips his hand, warm and solid, under Adam’s shirt to splay against his ribs, and Adam stops breathing completely. Brandon’s eyes are still closed, but his fingers are exploring, up his spine and then down, dipping below the waistband of Adam’s sweatpants. Oxygen’s overrated, Adam decides, as Brandon trails the pads of his fingers over the swell of Adam’s ass, investigating every dip and curve he finds. Brandon shifts so he can palm the cheek properly, and Adam bites back a moan as his cock hardens.

“Are you—ah—gonna pretend you’re asleep for this whole thing?” he manages, and so what if his voice is a little strangled, he thinks it’s fairly understandable, personally.

Brandon’s lips quirk up but he doesn’t answer. Instead he slides his hand around Adam’s hip, squeezing the bone affectionately and grazing his knuckles over Adam’s groin. Adam makes a noise that’s very manly and deep and definitely not a squeak when Brandon’s hand closes over his shaft, and he struggles to lift his hips and push his sweats down so Brandon has room to work. Brandon hums, rolling Adam to his back and resting his cheek on his chest as he begins stroking. Like this, all Adam can see is the back of his head, but it’s very rapidly not going to matter at all, not with the way Brandon is using Adam’s steadily leaking pre-come to ease the glide of his fist, steady and smooth and just this side of too tight.

Adam’s hips buck and Brandon rides the movement smoothly, never losing his rhythm. Adam’s panting openly now, balls drawing up and pleasure coiling at his core. Brandon swipes a thumb over the head of his cock and twists his wrist, and Adam’s lost, crying out as he comes in helpless, broken jerks all over his chest and stomach.

Brandon works him through it, until Adam’s twitching feebly with overstimulation, and finally lifts his head.

His voice is rough, graveled with sleep, when he speaks. “You should see what I can do when I’m awake,” he says, and Adam groans.

“I’m  _ gonna _ find out,” he promises. “But right now what do you want?”

Brandon shivers. “Doesn’t matter. As long as it’s you.”

“It’s me,” Adam says, pulling on Brandon’s shoulder. His limbs are weak, not cooperating, but Brandon gets the idea and crawls up his body. “You killed me,” Adam informs him, and Brandon doesn’t seem at all repentant, sitting up at Adam’s direction and swinging a leg over his chest. He lowers himself carefully, his sweats straining, and Adam decides to help by pulling them down, tucking them under Brandon’s hips and below his balls. He licks his lips at the gift presented to him thusly, Brandon’s cock flushed dark red and leaking, balls already taut.

“You don’t have to—” Brandon begins, and Adam blinks, looking up at him.

“Because having your cock in my mouth is a  _ bad _ thing?”

Brandon flushes, and he should look ridiculous, perched on Adam’s chest with his pants pulled halfway down, but instead a flood of tenderness swamps Adam. This is  _ his. _ He gets to have this, his awkward, weird, dorky best friend who grills steak and has baking marathons with him. He gets to have  _ Brandon.  _ Adam grins up at him and leans up to take him in his mouth.

Brandon gasps, tilting forward to help Adam reach, and Adam hums, pleased. He uses his tongue first, getting him thoroughly wet and using the opportunity to explore him all over, feeling the ridges, running his tongue over the slit just to hear Brandon swear in a thick, choked, voice, then finally,  _ finally, _ getting to work, tightening the suction and beginning to bob up and down in earnest.

“Adam, Adam,  _ fuck,” _ Brandon pants, grabbing the headboard and holding on desperately as Adam does his best to drive him out of his mind. When Adam looks up, Brandon’s staring down at him, eyes blown black and mouth hanging open, as if he was not expecting the sight, and Adam can’t help it—he fucking  _ winks _ before diving back down.

He hears a strangled laugh above him, but he’s too busy to look up again, gauging his progress by the way Brandon’s breath shortens, the way his hips hitch unconsciously, until he’s panting steadily, rolling forward as if unable to stop himself, and he’s swearing helplessly with every jerk of his body.

“Close,” he gasps. “So close, baby. ‘M gonna—”

Adam dives down again and Brandon makes a strangled, punched out noise as Adam’s mouth floods with bitter liquid. He swallows it all, gentling his movements gradually until he’s just letting Brandon’s cock lie in his mouth, listening to Brandon’s thick breathing as he works to get himself under control. Adam keeps his eyes closed, memorizing the feel of it, the shape and size and smell, and finally Brandon sighs regretfully and pulls out, running a knuckle down Adam’s face.

He slides down and curls in close to Adam’s side and they lie quietly for a few minutes, their breathing normalizing.

Adam doesn’t let the silence linger long though. He stretches, groaning in satisfaction as his back pops, and smacks a kiss on Brandon’s forehead. “So a couple of things,” he announces.

Brandon slits one eye and glares at him. “Are you always peppy after sex?”

“I can’t help it if it energizes me,” Adam says. “You ready for my revelations?”

Brandon sighs, deeply put upon. “Fine.”

“One. You’re going away but you’re not leaving.”

This gets Brandon to open both eyes and look at him, and Adam looks right back.

“We’ll make this work long-distance. We’ll fly to see each other every chance we get. It’s less than five hours by plane, that’s nothing. We’ll spend the summers together as much as possible, and during the seasons, well… I hope that handie in the PPG Paints arena is still on the table.”

Brandon punches his arm but there’s no force behind it, his eyes intent.

Adam doesn’t even let it sway him, smiling down at him. “I think this could be a great move for your career, B. And besides, we both know hockey isn’t forever. But I want the chance to find out if  _ we _ are. Are you willing to try?”

Brandon’s mouth works and he blinks hard several times. “I—yeah, Lows, you know I am.”

“Good, because that brings me to my second revelation,” Adam says. “You, Brandon Tanev, are gonna get to play hockey with Sidney  _ motherfucking _ Crosby, you  _ lucky _ bastard. Not against him, or near him, but actually  _ with _ him.”

Brandon’s lashes sweep down and he laughs. He’s  _ nervous, _ Adam realizes with delight, and it’s possibly the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He can’t resist kissing his nose quickly.

“Any more revelations?” Brandon asks, lips quirking.

“Just one,” Adam says. “Turns out you’re also a soppy bastard who uses pet names during se—mmph!” 

Somehow Brandon’s managed to find a pillow and is currently trying to smother him, breathless with laughter as Adam squirms beneath him, laughing too hard to put up too much of a struggle.

When Brandon pulls the pillow away, Adam blinks up at him, grinning.

“Call your agent, tell him you’ll sign.”

Brandon blinks hard again and then firms his mouth. Adam knows that look. That’s the patented Rusty Gets Shit Done look. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. Adam, I—” He breaks off.

“Yeah,” Adam says. “I know. Me too, B.”

Brandon’s eyes soften and he bends to kiss him, hard and breathless.

“We are gonna have so much Skype sex,” Adam says, when Brandon finally lifts his head, and Brandon laughs helplessly, folding forward to rest his forehead on Adam’s chest. Adam grins, triumphant. 

Everything’s going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out the author has Opinions About Hockey, go figure, and also Adam and Brandon will eventually figure out how to say "I love you" to each other, but it's not easy, with one braincell between them. [I'm on Tumblr if that's your thing!](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)


End file.
